


Milk And Cookies

by Davechicken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21887587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: The shop has an unexpected, small visitor.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 94





	Milk And Cookies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lisalicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisalicious/gifts).



“Do not give me that look.”

Crowley could feel the eyes on him. 

“What?”

“You know what.” He knew the angel did, and he wasn’t happy, and he was going to make sure the angel knew he was not happy. Because it was important.

“It’s simply--”

“ _See_ ,” he snapped, accusingly. “You do know.”

“I am conjecturing based on your complete inability to communicate as a normal, sensible, rational creature, Crowley!”

Making him cross and cranky was good. It deflected things. It shifted the focus. It made the topic move to how insufferable he was, instead of things he could not and would not hear spoken aloud.

It also made the small child currently curled up between his crossed legs stir uncomfortably. The - most likely girl - who had wandered in from the street and then burst into tears had refused to calm down until Crowley had scolded the ridiculous angel and taken her to one side and given her a spare pair of the sunglasses she had been enchanted by. She had been happily playing about with his snakeskin boots, and she stopped to wobble her lips at the raised voices.

“Have you got in touch with the police, then?” Crowley asked, jogging one knee to make her giggle.

“Yes. They will send someone any moment now. There were no reports of a missing child, but the caregiver may not have thought to call them yet.”

Kids did misbehave, and wander, and drive you mad, Crowley knew. But how could you lose one and not notice, or care? Fine, if you were Her, you had so many that it was like some high-yield brood. You over-produced to counter natural wastage. But when you had one or two at a time (statistically speaking), you’d think you’d pay more attention.

The girl put her head on his knee, clearly tired. Crowley narrowed his eyes at the angel. “Milk and cookies?” he mouthed, silently.

“What?”

“I said: Milk and cookies!”

That wasn’t silent, and the girl bounced upright, clapping her hands. “Coogie!”

“She really does like you,” Aziraphale said, rolling his eyes and going to fetch things. 

“Well. I know how she feels. I mean... you know.” Damn. Why did he say that. “Being talked to like an idiot by an angel, when you just want a drink.” Better. Better than ‘being alone in the world all of a sudden’. 

But the angel knew. And Crowley knew that he knew. And the little girl made sticky fingerprints and crumbs mar his black jeans until the terrified mother turned up with the pram holding the girl’s sibling. 

At least she came back for her, Crowley thought, as he cursed her with not forgetting her daughter again. He nodded to the kid as she was handed back, and made a point of memorising her. 

You know.

Just in case it happened again, and he needed to intervene.

“Oh, shut up,” he said, feeling Aziraphale’s delight pour off him in waves. 

You just didn’t do that to kids.


End file.
